She let out a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. She had wanted Austin to be the knight in shining armor. To save Vlad, if not herself. Now she knew. There was no hope.
There was only herself.
Tarini stood up to face Karinolov. “You’re the new ambassador?”
“Yes. As of this moment.”
“Where are you taking Vlad?” she demanded.
“Why? Do you want to go with him?”
She only needed a moment to consider the offer. “Yes, I would,” she said, knowing that her duty was to protect Vlad. With her life, if necessary.
“No,” Vlad said quietly. “Tarini, I must go and you know why you cannot follow.”
Their eyes locked. His so sad and worn, as if he were much older than his thirty years.
The ambassadorship had been meant by the recently installed prime minister to be a training school for Vladimir. Someday, so the plan had gone, Vladimir would take his country’s helm. Not as a king as had once been his birthright, but as a democratically elected leader. He was a popular figure and would unite the people.
All that was lost as the military regime must have taken over. Tarini wondered what fate the prime minister had met this evening. Death, most likely.
“It’s all right,” Vlad said gently. “I’ve been expecting this. I knew something horrible must happen here if the military took over. Stay, Tarini. And please tell Austin that I know he did everything he could and that I’ll hold him to the promise I just extracted from him regarding your safety.”
And with unwavering stateliness, Vlad climbed into the diplomatic crate as if it were a limousine. His last smile was brave and poignant as a leather face mask was snapped on and the restraints tied to his arms and legs.
“Vlad!” Tarini screamed.
The last nails were hammered into the crate. Then the diplomatic-courier seals were affixed to the lid, identifying it as protected under the Vienna Convention by order of the new ambassador.
Tarini watched, horrified.
Karinolov came to her, his breath at her ear.
“I’m so sorry that we finally meet again under these circumstances,” he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. “You are still as beautiful in the flesh as—”
Revolted, she slapped him.
Instinctively, he responded by crushing his handgun against her head.
She tumbled into darkness, feeling a stab of despair as she knew that she, like Austin, had failed Vlad.
“Austin,” she murmured with her last conscious breath.
Karinolov stood over Tarini, solemn and still.
Austin. He was positive she had said, “Austin.”
He looked back at the bodyguard, who had slipped into unconsciousness. How he despised the American.
Then Karinolov stared at her limp body, at the black hair that spilled onto the pale marble tile. He felt a wrenching sense of betrayal, and everything he had felt for her exploded in a red-hot rage.
“Get her out of here,” he ordered his men.
Chapter One
Two months later
New York City
Austin stared at the tree buds opening on the Strawberry Fields section of Central Park, which lay beyond his apartment window. April was the cruelest month, reminding him of life when all he could think of….
He crushed his empty beer can and free-threw it to the wastebasket beside his desk. He missed.
Powerless. He felt powerless. He had never had experience with that emotion and he didn’t like it. He rubbed his two-day stubble. None of his contacts in Washington would recognize him now. Gone was the pressed shirt and the charcoal-gray suit, the confident and determined swagger, the tough and rugged smile that had been his trademark.
He had spent two months doing everything a man could do—in the halls of State Department, anonymous smoke-filled cafés in Washington, the CIA complexes in Langley, West Virginia, and the top-secret National Security Administration offices in Fairfax, Virginia.
And he had come home in defeat.
Vlad had disappeared, swallowed in the chaos and confusion of the beginning days of the militaryled government of Byleukrainia.
Tarini had disappeared, as well, not that he wanted to see her. Not that he cared.
“Hey, buddy, you gotta move on,” Bob said.
Austin glanced at his friend, whose stocky frame was dwarfed by the plush leather Zulu throne Austin’s father had brought to America from one of his more exotic government postings.
Bob must know what he felt, Austin thought. He had stood outside the mission that night with twenty-three other squad cars. The officers had calmed petrified party guests, cordoned off the area from press and gawkers, escorted everybody to their cars and surrounded the perimeter of the mission.
But there wasn’t a thing Bob Kearner could have done for the people inside. Even for his buddy Austin.
Stepping into the mission was the equivalent of crossing a border into a foreign country. Violating their diplomatic entitlements. Creating an international incident. Bob had told Austin many times how he would have liked to have thrown away all the rule books that terrible night, especially as Karinolov’s limousine had glided out from behind the wrought-iron gates, taking Vlad to Kennedy Airport.
“Austin, I know the last two months haven’t been easy,” Bob said, putting the discarded beer can in the wastebasket.
“It hasn’t,” Austin agreed bitterly, though he was ordinarily not a man who complained. “My best friend has been kidnapped and is either dead or—worse—in a Byleukrainian prison. And our government won’t do a thing about it because the kidnapper is covered by diplomatic immunity and we’ll recognize any government which will grant us access to those uranium mines.”
“It’s bad, I know. But if you give up on yourself, you’ll never be any help to him.”
“It was my fault in the first place.”
“Stop torturing yourself. Nothing could have stopped them. They knew the Winter Ball was the only time they could get around your security system. They knew Vlad would take risks and so they crashed the party to get him. You know all that. Maybe they could have just as easily caught him on the street.”
“You’re wrong. On the street I could and would have protected him,” Austin muttered, replaying out loud a tape that had been stuck inside his head from the moment he had awakened in the Manhattan alley where the kidnappers had dumped him. “I shouldn’t have let him go on with the ball. I knew I couldn’t protect him. He refused the most minor inconveniences of security for his guests. I failed him—and that was not just my job, it was my promise as a friend. I broke that promise, that trust.”
“He was being foolish,” Bob said. “Any other man would have gone into hiding when it looked like the capital was about to topple.”
“Any other friend would have dragged him into hiding.”
“You did everything you—”
“It was all because of a woman,” Austin interrupted. “Tarini. His safety should have been our only concern. Instead, both Vlad and I were thinking of her. I grabbed for her, to pull her to the ground out of gunfire, when I should have fired. I lost those seconds—those seconds may have cost Vlad his life.”
“Where is Tarini, by the way?” Bob asked, edging cautiously forward in his chair. “I mean, do you keep up with her at all?”
Austin shook his head. “No.”
“Where is she now?”
Austin scowled. “If she’s anywhere on earth, it’s not far enough away from me.”
Bob sighed and sat back in the buttery leather cushion. “I didn’t just come here to cheer you up,” he said quietly. “I need a favor.”
“What?”
“I’m starting my own company,” he said, pushing his wire-rims higher on his nose. “A little moonlighting because you know I can’t raise three kids on a cop’s salary. Simple security operation. I’ve got a party on Saturday to cover. Give me some of your time. Six hours, tops.”
&nb
sp; “The last time I did security for a party, the host got kidnapped and the guests had a terrible time,” Austin said dryly.
He raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. He needed a haircut. Bad. But he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.
“Please. It’s a diplomatic party. Everyone’s bringing their own bodyguards. It’ll be a madhouse. You’re the only one I know who can make it go.”
Austin groaned. “No way, Bob. I’ve had enough of that crowd to last me for several lifetimes.”
“C’mon, Austin. I really need someone who knows how to set up a perimeter of safety. I gotta have someone who can wire a house. And I gotta have somebody who knows the protocol. You know I only know two languages—English and Brooklynese. You’re fluent in eight.”
“Nine,” Austin corrected. “I’ve been brushing up on my Swahili.”
“See? You’re perfect for the job.”
“Forget it, Bob. Besides, if I were a diplomat, I wouldn’t hire me.”
“Everyone knows it wasn’t your fault. They’re all running scared, Austin, they’ve seen something terrible happen. So now even a barbecue at the Nigerian mission requires a virtual SWAT team.”
“And where do you fit in?”
“A little guy like me is just in the price range of a third-world country with a U.N. mission to protect. If I do this job well, I’ll get other jobs. I need the money. You don’t know how bad.”
Austin looked out the window. They were dusty, needed cleaning. The whole apartment needed hosing down. How’d he let it get to this? Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Bob fidgeting in the Zulu throne. Shifting his weight, tugging at his belt, grimacing as his back raked the prayer bells that hung from the chair.
Bob had asked him a favor. A friend with a favor to ask couldn’t be sent away empty-handed. But he shuddered at the idea of going out of this apartment, even for a moment, to face the people he had known for so long—in his new role as a failure.
But suddenly, his mind started racing.
“Will Ambassador Karinolov be there?”
Maybe there was something to the law of vengeance.
“Maybe,” Bob said, and his eyes skittered away. “But don’t count on it. He’s being snubbed.”
“Snubbed?”
“The diplomatic community is snubbing him. He didn’t even get invited to the secretary-general’s Spring luncheon and the mayor refused to seat him for the Pavarotti concert.”
Austin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the new ambassador is devastated.”
“Come on, Austin, just say you’ll help me out,” Bob pleaded. “Consider it a favor for a friend. Your goddaughters want to go to ballet school this summer and the fees are killing me.”
Austin regarded his friend critically. Years before, there had been gambling debts, so steep that Bob had been nearly forced into bankruptcy. Austin had paid them off. The subject of repaying Austin had never come up, because a policeman’s salary would never allow for it. It had simply been a favor between two friends. Austin would do it again in an instant if Bob asked.
But would Bob ask? Or would he be too ashamed to return to his friend a second time?
Austin hadn’t thought about Bob’s gambling problem for a long time. But he shook his head as he studied his friend’s placid face and he knew he couldn’t ask. He didn’t want Bob to think he was dunning him for the repayment of the money. Besides, surely he would have seen other signs if his friend was in trouble…
“Ballet lessons?” Austin said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “You drive a really hard bargain.”
THE NIGERIAN MISSION was housed in a small, crumbling graystone across from the Eldridge Street Synagogue on the Lower East Side. Far from the regal missions of the wealthier nations, it still managed to convey its own special charm with a colorful flag flapping in the breeze and its door emblazoned with the Nigerian crest.
Ambassador Abu Dikko, wearing a traditional Yoruban robe of pink and white, stood in the foyer, prepared to greet his guests. His attaché hovered behind him, ready to direct people to a spacious dining room where a buffet of fragrantly spiced foods was laid out. A band in the heated courtyard played the brisk, finger-snapping juju music of King Sunny Ade.
At the kitchen table, Austin spoke firmly to Bob’s handpicked security team of off-duty New York City cops. Detailed blueprints of the mission, as well as maps of the surrounding streets and alleyways, were laid out in front of them. Ignoring the chatter of the kitchen staff, Austin reviewed for a final time the locations team members would take, where they would move as the party progressed and the weaknesses in the building’s structure which must be defended if necessary. Every contingency was allowed for, every disaster anticipated.
Austin remembered why he liked this business— it was like a puzzle, figuring out how to secure the building, how to ensure the diplomatic community solidified their personal relationships with comfort and ease and a sense of safety. Those personal relationships were the building blocks of international cooperation, so Austin didn’t for a moment think of any party as trivial. Balls, receptions, teas, dinners—they were where the real work of diplomacy was done.
Each member of the team wore a tuxedo and plain black satin tie. Bob tugged uncomfortably at his collar and repeatedly cleaned his glasses with the silk sleeve of his jacket. Austin made a mental note to tell Bob he needed to become more comfortable in a dinner jacket if he expected to work with this echelon of society.
Austin would blend into the crowd with an understated tuxedo and a close shave. His hair was cropped astronaut-short and his cheeks were still red from the five-mile run he’d taken.
As the time of the party approached, he had pushed away all thoughts of the last diplomatic party he had covered, focusing on ensuring the Nigerian mission’s safety and his hope that Bob Kearner’s first job would go well.
He’d always had a soft spot for Bob’s daughters. If they wanted ballet lessons this summer, well, he’d do the job and take them to buy new leotards, too.
“All right, men, you know what to do,” he said at last, gathering his meticulously drawn blueprints and maps and putting them in Bob’s briefcase. “And if we do our work well, Bob’s phone will be ringing off the hook Monday morning.”
The men dispersed throughout the mission, linked together with transistors wired behind their ears.
Austin checked his gun. He used the subcompact because it was small and its safe-action system ensured no misfires. The gun fit into the palm of his hand, and yet, it carried a lot of power. Fortycaliber power. Austin had customized his weapon with a LaserClip gunsight, a panel on his barrel that activated a powerful beam of light to aid in precision aim.
Austin put the gun into his shoulder holster and prayed, as he did every time he wore it, that he wouldn’t have to draw and fire.
With a nod to the giggling waitresses congregating at the kitchen door, Austin took his position near the foyer. For the next two hours, he quietly shadowed the host, Ambassador Dikko.
And if the ambassador felt queasy about placing his fate in the hands of the man who had guarded Vlad Romanov, he never let on. Dikko smiled and chatted and shook hands and never once looked in Austin’s direction.
That was how good security worked.
When Austin turned over to Bob the responsibility for tailing the diplomat, Ambassador Dikko was dancing in the courtyard, his robe swaying and his feet tracing intricate patterns on the stone tiles. It was a party like any of the thousands Austin had attended at his parents’ many homes or in his own work—and yet, he could feel the unfamiliar sense of fear.
Eyes darting to and fro. A worried glance exchanged over cocktails. Mouths occasionally tightened in quiet anxiety. A grim determination to have fun—laughter too loud and faltering before it stopped abruptly.
Bob was right—the community had been spooked by Vlad’s kidnapping.
As Austin walked to the dining room where a bucket of ice and cola beckoned, he heard
a commotion in the foyer. A group of gray-suited, pastyfaced men parted and allowed their leader to emerge.
Karinolov.
In the past two months, Austin had played out in his head a half-dozen ways of confronting the ambassador. Meetings in his mind that, he would have been ashamed to admit, ended with Karinolov dead or at least begging for his life. In every daydream, Austin was cool and calm and without remorse or mercy.
Now Austin’s mouth went dry and he wasn’t nearly as composed as he would have liked. Still, he put his hands to his hips and stared boldly at the man who had kidnapped his friend.
“So we meet again,” Ambassador Andrei Karinolov said with a courtly bow.
It was possible, just barely possible, to imagine the charm that made Karinolov still such a popular figure in his homeland and among some members of the American immigrant community.
Austin suppressed the blinding urge to simply fire. It would be so easy—the gun was holstered only inches from his fingers.
He could take Karinolov out in less than a second. But years of training and a personal sense of honor stopped him from shooting dead an unarmed man. Even if the man was Karinolov.
Instead, he shrugged with forced nonchalance.
“Ambassador Karinolov, I would say it’s a pleasure to see you. But it’s not. So I won’t. This is a private party. You have not been invited. May I show you the door?”
Karinolov smirked. His entourage hesitantly mimicked their leader’s humor and guffawed uneasily. Karinolov quieted them with a withering glance.
“Step aside, Austin, and thank your Lord above that I didn’t shoot you when I had the chance.”
Austin touched the transmitter at the back of his ear, signaling backup.
“This is a private party,” he repeated. “And your name doesn’t appear on the guest list. I must ask you to leave immediately.”
Karinolov shook his head. “Oh, I think Ambassador Dikko will be delighted to have me,” he explained airily. “There are eight thousand Nigerian nationals working in the Byleukrainian uranium mines. I think their safety and continued welcome in my country is worth a little hospitality, wouldn’t you agree?”
His Kind Of Trouble Page 3
